after Emily Dickinson

by Venya Gushchin

Because I could not top for Death -He kindly topped for me -The Carriage took a musty Smell -And my Virginity.
We slowly fucked - He knew no hasteAnd I had shut awayMy long belabored Foolishness,That notion I was Straight -
We passed the Street at half-past TenWhere Men came - Down like RainAnd Turning at Trafalgar - Square -We rode to Heaven’s Gate
Or rather - He rode Me -And drew me quivering, AloftMy hair of Gossamer, his Reins -My Ass - his Saddle Seat -
My only Thought the while I feltThe Swelling of his Mound -That I should be for Ever HisIgnoble steed - to Mount -
Since then - ’twas Thursday last - and yetEternity untilI next imbibe his Horse size HeadAnd never have my Fill -

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Featured in our September 2023 issue, "Jokes"

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